A New England Kettle Pond

 

 

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Writing with Light, using my cones and rods, I get to interpret light and use that interpretation to observe beauty from my subjective perspective.
On a walk around my Walden Pond, I could see November in the objects and their shadows. I could see light as it dropped like water on a leaf or a needle of a pine tree.
Light moves around when a leaf swirls in the wind and a new shadow is cast on a new branch.
It is a privilege to be able to have the time and the equipment needed to be able to have a day of gratitude. There are times in people lives when to bridge a divide means a lot of subjective work at uncovering clarity. This is an ongoing process in both art and therapy.

Mindfulness in Psychoanalysis is one aspect of my life, and iphotoimpression.com is another aspect of my professional life. These two ambitions drive me still today. What they have in common is the intensity of emotion as a reflection of intense color. The colors that make up the above composition are cream, aqua, deep red fuchsia and a hint of purple and green. Among these colors are variations in contrast and tonality.

I took my camera out to photograph light, only by coincidence and intuition did the objects end up in the images created. I love trees, they feel essential to me. I live among them. When I look out my window, I see nature and neighbors here and there in these woods on the edge of a New England Kettle Pond.

 

 

 

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Bending Birches: One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

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Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,   55
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Robert Frost does justice to life in new england.  It is such a wonderful place to live in October.  Well, that is if you enjoy nature, some mud on your feet and branches scratching against your face.  A walk through new england woods at this time of the year bring back all that is good about memories.  And like Robert Frost suggest in this poem, it would be nice to leave this world, as long as he knew he would be sent back.  But to go and to never return.  Well, like most of us he wished to postpone that as long as he can.

October is a month of beautiful transition.  As the leaves begin to fall and the winds chills against the cottages, you can begin to see light smoke swirling from the roof tops in early evening.  The scent of autumn returns a moist earthiness to the air.  The sun does not warm as it did in August.  The air chills fast and mornings are crispy.

It is right about the time when we will get our first frost.  Till now a lot of green still runs through the landscape and the red and the yellows pop when the sun shines. But, soon a kind of russet will take over and guide us gently to the crispy brown oak leaves of November.

But while it is still October, I gladly walk in the autumn woods.  They help me to contemplate the consciousness I hold so dear.  They help me to remember that my Canadian memories are windows to my soul.

WHEN I see birches bend to left and right
Across the line of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.

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